


Twenty-four Hours Later -or- Molly's Dream

by geekmama



Series: Aftermath [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 15:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: In the soft, black night she gradually becomes aware that she’s immersed in an erotic dream...A 700 word sentence that followsDessert with Sherlock.





	Twenty-four Hours Later -or- Molly's Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Part 10 of 15 of [Aftermath](https://archiveofourown.org/series/848343). Fairly non-explicit, but still smut, so be warned.
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In the soft, black night she gradually becomes aware that she’s immersed in an erotic dream, she’s had them before, of course, though this one’s oddly different, the very _particular_ way he’s spooned against her back, murmuring against her ear, how long has he been soothing her with that voice while those beautiful hands, those long, clever fingers have been moving over her, touching her, lightly, curiously, in places they’ve never ventured, uncovering her secrets, slowly but not tentatively, he seems strangely knowledgeable in fact, his time with that woman ( _he made me wear the hat_ ) not wasted, perhaps, or else he’s done his research (books; and John’s laptop has its uses), but now he’s studying _her_ , taking in every detail and applying the ( _absolutely vital_ ) information with the assurance and thoroughness expected of The World’s Only Consulting Detective, for all his professed inexperience, his powers of observation so acute, his every deduction so devastatingly accurate, his ability to utilize facts gleaned from each of her helpless sounds and movements is _driving her_ _mad_ , and finally she can bear no more, if she must drown so must he, and she turns within the warm circle of his arms, and two things happen: she kisses him, fierce and open mouthed, tasting, breathing, and at the same instant reaches down and finds him, impertinent as he’s been, nudging provocatively at her backside, and heavens, he’s iron sheathed in velvet, how has he managed in such a state, and his groan as she slowly works him (only fair, look what he’s done to _her_ ), that groan is utterly _delicious_ , and she hums and smiles as she kisses and teases, smiles because his trademarked composure is evaporating and suddenly his hand’s scrabbling at her backside, at the edge of her knickers, roughy drawing them down, the air is briefly cool on her exposed skin until he pushes her over against the pillows, his evident desperation has her close already, she must have him _now_ , and as she hisses sharply, “Wait!” then struggles with her pants after he complies (she can just glimpse the glitter of his eyes in the almost non-existent light) she knows suddenly that this is no dream, though it hardly matters they’re so far gone, she frees one foot from her obnoxious undergarment and opens herself to him, pulling him over her, taking him in hand, and there, _there_ , _oh God_ , and she half sobs his name as he enters her, so exactly _right_ , and she reaches up in her blindness and touches his face, reading the ecstasy of this moment with her fingertips, until he turns his head and lightly bites, and then, whispering her name in wonder, he begins to move, carefully at first, then _not_ , and she groans, too, and wraps herself around him, she can’t last, not when every slick stroke draws her closer, closer, closer, and she reaches down, between, to feel where they’re joined, and that makes him gasp, “Molly! Molly, I _can’t_ …” and then it’s Enough, then _too much_ , her body arches and she clutches him to her, short nails digging into him, the muscles of his back, his gorgeous arse, the wave breaks and she’s lost, her cries sharp, but she’s not alone, he tenses, then succumbs with the most devastated noise, the sweetest sound she’s ever heard in her life, again… again... and then it’s sweeping past, leaving them wrecked and trembling, clinging to each other, and they manage to kiss again as the deep (deeply satisfying) aftershocks continue, fading… she might have slept for a moment, but then he’s moving, withdrawing from her as he turns them onto their sides ( _Oh, Loss!_ ), limbs still entwined, and he clumsily hauls the covers over them again, kisses languid as their hearts calm, and she thinks vaguely they should clean up a bit but lacks the will, better to just lie here snug, his arms warm and strong about her while they drift, and she tries to stay awake, to make this moment last, the reality of it sinking into her soul, but it’s no use, the tide is rising, steadily pulling her down and under, to dream again, this dream within a dream.

 

~.~


End file.
